The Phenomenon

By Ray Wilson

It’s a warm early morning with unblemished blue skies—you can feel the energising heat of the sun on your skin.

I tap lightly on the satin glass caravan door. A clear plastic wallet is taped to the door; it reads “Notice to Quit.”

“Okay, mate,” I shout. There is a rummaging noise inside. The door opens. The unshaven face of the man in the woods appears. “Better come in, he says.”

He is in the process of lighting his log burner. newspapers scattered all around—a headline catches my eye. “Is that today’s paper?” I asked, pointing to the headline. The man shakes his head and says, “Old news—all old news,” inviting me to take a seat as he stirs the fire to life with an iron poker.

A stained Guardian declares that: Rough sleeping in London up 23% to highest level in a decade.
City hall counts 4,389 people sleeping on the streets in the fourth quarter of 2023, with the mayor accusing No. 10 of ‘turning a blind eye’.

“Right then, better get on,” Trev says as he starts to unload the van.

We start a small fire in the clearing using newspaper and small pieces of dry wood. Soon, it’ll be a proper conflagration.

“All this to go,” says Trev, surveying items of furniture—some broken items—a chest of drawers with delaminated sides—a rickety chair—an old sofa bed frame and a recent hardback of ‘Captain Tom’—better rescue this—mustn’t do a Fahrenheit 451 much as this one deserves it.”

“I will have a quick look through,” I reply —it’s a treasure trove of watches. A ten bob note, a three-penny bit, and an old flakey blue airmail letter addressed to RAF Squadron Headquarters overseas.

“I’ll take these all in to him, Trev.”

The fire consumes it all, and soon it’s a pile of ash with small glowing embers. As the flames die down, the only remnants left are charred pieces of furniture and a faint smell of smoke in the air. Trev nods in approval, satisfied with the thoroughness of the cleanup.

“If worse comes to worse, we’ll take him down to Dover and smuggle him onto one of the rubber dingys—no pesky paperwork, no pack drill—he’d be in a 3 star hotel by the end of the day.”

“It’s a plan; he isn’t in great shape—not for a sea cruise anyway.” I sit on a log in the clearing.
Trev has a troubled expression on his face.

“What’s on your mind, Trev? You seem lost in thought.”

Trev blinked, as if emerging from a reverie, and then sighed heavily. “It’s this dream, Ray. It’s been haunting me for days now.”

Intrigued, I leaned forward. “What kind of dream?”

“It’s… surreal, yet so vivid,” Trev began.

“I never dreamed at night, never – well as a kid I did—chased after by foes—that sort of thing—this was different—like I was being targeted.

“You know that thing your mum would give you at Christmas?”

“What an advent calendar or something?”

“No, a telescope thing—a kaleidoscope, that’s it—you would look through and see wonderful geometric shapes, swirling bright colours—all changing as you turned it. Well, it was like I was looking into one of those; it was full of faces—ten hundred—thousands—soon it was millions. I tried to see if I could recognise any of them, but they rotated past so quickly it was a bit of a blur.”

“I have been having dreams myself, Trev. Was it in colour? Were you frightened or worried?”

“Yes, it was a vivid colour. No, I wasn’t worried. I felt a special connection to all of them. I can’t explain it. I find myself in a world unlike ours, where love and peace reign supreme. It’s a place of abundance, where nobody goes hungry, where disease is a thing of the past, and where war is but a distant memory.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Sounds like a utopia. But why does it trouble you?”

“Because,” Trev continued, his voice tinged with a mixture of awe and fear, “I’m not the only one having this dream. You, your missus, I’ve heard reports from people all over the world sharing similar experiences.”

I am absorbing Trev’s words. “That’s… uncanny. Is it just a coincidence that many of us have had the dream as well?”

Trev shook his head. “I don’t think so. There’s something about this dream that feels significant. Like it’s trying to tell us something.”

Our weakened and demoralised governments—our world leaders—are determined to take one last stand—one last hurrah-distractions-lies-promises—an almighty shitshow designed to capture and captivate their populations. They need our low vibrational energy—already the single demonic eye—irritated and twitching, detecting slight perceptible changes—and the realisation that when institutions fall and our old systems collapse, it is not inevitable; it will be the one power to rule them all.

I imagine that as word of the shared dream spread, people all over the world began to come forward with their own experiences. Scientists puzzled over the phenomenon, unable to explain how such a widespread occurrence could be possible—the perfect foil for injectable technology.

Meanwhile, governments grew uneasy as whispers of discontent began to spread among their citizens. The dream offered a glimpse of a world free from the shackles of oppression and suffering, and people began to question why such a world couldn’t be a reality.
And as they looked out at the world, teetering on the brink of chaos, they knew that the time for dreaming was over. It was time to wake up and make a difference.

Will you and I be up to the challenge? Can we transcend the old ways and build a system for humanity based on spiritual energy and love? Beware because of the new set of constructed voices built to remove dissenters: the ‘trusted media’ outlets, the recently co-opted You Tubers—controlled by the narrative gatekeepers, shadowy duplicitous figures incentivize certain narratives, giving prominence to promotors of mRNA gene therapies, certain wars—a certain framing of the stories—you can ask any question you want—as long as it is the ones that we permitted by the ministry of information. Watch carefully and see the shape-shifters shift their positions. It will be subtle, calculated, and nuanced, but it is happening now and will continue to. A new cult—or cult leader-history was deleted, edited, and repurposed. The secret funding of social media to control and guide the narrative-cross promotion to garner the trust of huge audiences and, importantly, generate more revenue. Poke and tease—provoke staged fights—battles—watch the ones who shamelessly pushed the lockdowns, the masks, the jabs—the ones who screamed far right anti-vaxxer—and suddenly, in a damascene wobble, see the blinding light of common sense, and we will forgive them and maybe trust them again. But beware, remember if they spout off about disease X or climate crisis Y and war Z. Its clicks. Fame and spondulicks for the protected ones. The ones who exploited suffering are framed in the fictitious government narrative, ensuring the support of their nefarious agencies to peddle their products—books, articles, and videos on all the platforms—no pack drill, no fact check, no verify, no problem.

Remember those who made millions of pounds, euros, and dollars from advertising revenue alone on their YouTube channels by pushing the narrative? Many of us who are not monetised received a strike for posting a short video showing the London Freedom marches in 2021—how does that work? Their bank account balances are testimony to that. It’s a twisted reality where profit seems to outweigh truth and integrity. The manipulation of information for personal gain is a dangerous game that ultimately harms society as a whole.

“Does he dream, do you think?” Trev asks, pointing towards the caravan.

“He never talks much now; I hope he still has dreams.”

“That mRNA gene therapy instructs cells to produce proteins—Operation Warp speed was a tool to normalise the concept of the production of these injectable toxins. How is it possible—the MAC codes—so many unidentified MAC addresses in the middle of nowhere?”

“We are in the middle of nowhere; it’s a dead zone. Look at my hidden Bluetooth address application; it’s going nuts. Where are all these devices, Ray?”

“I have no idea, Trev. There is no one out here but our man in the woods; he doesn’t have invisible devices lurking around. Maybe it’s some sort of surveillance operation, a glitch in the system, or something more sinister.”

“It’s unsettling, Ray. Maybe it’s something that’s inside of him.”

The great betrayal of us by our governments—the gaslighting and deception. Event 201 talks in depth about how they intend to ‘get the correct information out there to convince people—particularly in the communication of ‘factual’ information.

“What are they so scared of, Trev?”

“Maybe it’s exactly because we are all unique spiritual beings—not cyborgs or trans-humans coded uniquely into the machines they intend to make us—but spiritual humans like in my dream—the millions of beautiful kaleidoscopic faces.” “It’s a frightening thought, isn’t it, Ray? They want to control our very essence.”

After a moment, I reply: “It does seem they fear our true power and our connection to something greater than themselves—God, the thinking, living plasma—the scalar energy—our divine spark—the connectivity of souls—the universal consciousness of our dreams. They are terrified of losing control over us if we awaken to our true nature and power as unique spiritual beings. The interconnectedness of our souls and the universal consciousness threaten their ability to manipulate and deceive us.

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